


Survival of the Fittest

by Vadianna



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Phasma - Delilah S. Dawson
Genre: (Kylo Ren appears briefly), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Force Choking, Phasma Is Not Nice, Phasma murders a couple people off-screen, Surveilance, allusions to worse types of violence, brief mention of alien cannibalism, one stolen kiss with chapped lips, staff fighting as introduction and bonding experience, survivalist - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-07 02:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20302249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vadianna/pseuds/Vadianna
Summary: AU - Phasma led the raid on the Jakku village of Tuanul without Kylo Ren, failing to find the map or gain a confession from Poe Dameron. Kylo Ren orders her to continue her search, with the unsubtle threat that he will not tolerate failure a second time.Phasma recognizes the danger in defying Kylo Ren, and goes back to Jakku alone for a solo hunt. She uses her Parnassos survival techniques to track where the map went after the raid and observe the various residents of the Jakku desert. Her attention is caught by another survivor, a scavenger that can take care of herself without help from others.





	Survival of the Fittest

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is around two years old, and written just after I'd finished the _Phasma_ novel. It's as compliant to her characterization there as I could make it. Phasma lacks empathy, and is extremely dangerous, but is never a real threat to Rey during the story.
> 
> Rey's secret ship is from _Before the Awakening_.
> 
> More details in the end notes, for those who want them.

“So, who talks first? I talk first? You talk first?”

Phasma stared down at the dark-haired Resistance pilot, the village burning around her, the screams of the inhabitants echoing across the desert as the Stormtroopers carried out their orders.

“Search him,” she said, stepping back and watching as the two soldiers flanking him pulled him up and gave him a cursory pat-down.

“He’s clean. No map.”

Phasma clenched her jaw behind the cover of her helmet.

Well. If you want a job done right.

She stepped back in front of the pilot, blaster held in her left hand. To his credit, he stared up into her helmet defiantly, sneering at his own reflection as Phasma considered him through the visor.

“I think we can be a little more thorough than that,” she said simply, turning toward the Trooper to her left, FN-9943, and dropping her free hand to the pilot’s shoulder. “Don’t you?”

Both Troopers took the cue, and stepped away from the pilot, shouldering their guns.

Phasma smiled behind her helmet, and her grip on the pilot’s shoulder tightened. He turned his gaze from his own reflection to her heavily gloved hand.

* * *

She was in the _Finalizer's_ firing rage later, annoyed.

She fired four shots. All hit the target. Distractedly, she sent the target back further and re-shouldered her rifle.

Neither her search nor her persuasion planetside had made the mouthy pilot give up the location of the map. She’d also had the Troopers search every inch of the village looking for datachips. They’d found several, and she ordered the village burned to the ground for the extra time that had taken, leaving the bodies lying where they’d fallen.

The desert scavengers of Jakku had to eat, too. Be they semi-sentient or not.

Four more shots. All overlapping on the bullseye. She swung her rifle to the next bay over, firing off four more rapid shots that hit the target, then swung the opposite way. Four more.

The targets were replaced with fresh. She waited, rifle on her shoulder.

There had been no map. But Kylo Ren had been sure it was there, so she had brought the Resistance pilot back with her, knowing that Kylo Ren's interrogation would reveal more than hers ever could.

Alternating shots, sweeping across the targets, again and again. All hit the mark. She waited as the targets replaced themselves.

The pilot had been unconscious after her search and questioning, and had stayed that way until she had two guards order a stretcher and restraints and carry him to interrogation.

Eight shots into all three targets.

One of the new troopers she favored, FN-2187, had been on his first active mission, but had not fired his weapon and had removed his helmet without authorization. She’d had two other Troopers escort him to reconditioning. Disappointing.

She emptied the rest of her rifle charge into a single target, firing over and over again through the bullseye. When she stopped, it looked as if a single large-barrel shot had been fired.

She lowered the rifle. She could do better. She switched out the magazine.

“Captain Phasma.”

She paused, the magazine not quite rammed home. She took the extra second to push and lock the cartridge into place. It was standard procedure to lock the safety when being spoken to by a superior officer. She did not.

She turned around, rifle half-raised by her waist, and faced Kylo Ren, meeting his gaze through their helmets. She was taller than him. But that didn't matter to Kylo Ren. It never had.

“Sir.”

His approach had been silent. It always was. He was standing far closer than he usually would. He was wearing his long black tunic, his mask and helmet, his gray cowl. He always looked so ratty. Why not wear armor if the option was available to you?

He looked down at her rifle briefly, then raised his helmet back to her face. She guessed his interrogation hadn’t gone any better than her own.

“Your pilot informed me that the map is in a BB unit on the surface of Jakku.”

_Her_ pilot. She sneered behind her mask.

“There was no BB unit when we conducted the search.”

Kylo Ren cocked his head. The blue overhead lights of the shooting range caught in the chrome bands around the visor of his helmet. She envied him the much more intimidating design of his helmet.

“Then you didn’t look hard enough, did you?”

She tipped her head forward in a show of deference, but said nothing. They had been thorough. There had been no BB unit.

“General Hux has assured me that we will locate the BB unit on Jakku. I decided that you should handle the errand. Personally. Since you were the one that left it there.”

_Left it there_. Phasma’s finger twitched against the trigger guard of her rifle, and she felt her body tense with rage. Kylo Ren was the only person who would dare disrespect her in this way. He was powerful, yes, but one day, they would be on a mission together-

He gestured casually between them, and Phasma saw something flash in the corner of her visor. She looked down to see that her magazine was sparking, and she threw the whole rifle out into the firing range before it could malfunction and discharge the entire magazine into her side. It exploded, and the shots ricocheted around the blast-proof walls. She stood, not flinching as they flew on either side of her, trusting her armor to take any stray shots that fired her way, and not wanting to give Kylo Ren the pleasure of ducking behind the barrier.

She turned back to him. That had been her favorite rifle. She was baring her teeth behind her mask.

“You think I’m being unfair.” He took a step closer. “You think you did an adequate job on the surface.”

Phasma took a step closer herself. “We-”

He brought his hand up between them, and she felt a pressure around her neck, his _Force_, felt her feet jerk off the floor.

“Failed,” he finished for her, his tone light through his helmet. “_You_ failed. You and one of your Stormtroopers. I saw that one broke conditioning.”

She struggled briefly against the invisible hold, her hands going up to her neck and her feet waving in the air. He held his hand palm out and apparently harmless between them, mask pointed up toward her, and she felt the blood pounding in her neck, the pain in her windpipe as he tightened his grip. She felt the tingling in her face as she lost circulation, the blackness at the edge of her vision.

She went limp, knowing he wanted to see her struggle.

He grunted, dropping her back to the ground. She caught herself on her feet and stood at attention as if nothing had happened, fighting to keep her back straight, her vision clear.

“Find that map, Captain. If you don’t…” He took a step closer, nearly standing chest to chest with her. “You may find that your wish to have me on the surface of the same planet as yourself will be granted sooner than you think.” She felt pressure around her throat again, gone before it could hurt. He tipped his helmet to the side again.

“You won’t like it.”

He turned and left, the long layers of his tunic swirling around his legs, the door opening and closing automatically for him.

She watched him go.

She considered her options.

* * *

Ultimately, she decided that she did not want to be hunted by Kylo Ren. So she looked for the BB unit with the datachip he needed.

She went down to Jakku by herself. If she had to hunt, she didn’t want to babysit a squad in the desert as she did it. She could hunt the droid more efficiently by herself. The General had put out patrols in the population centers to watch for the droid, but Jakku was covered with deserts and wastes. There were more of those than population centers, and she would find what she was looking for there.

She landed her shuttle at the site of the former village of Tuanul. She looked around. There were only bones. She nodded. That was as it should be. The clothes, water, and body mass had been used by others.

Her chrome armor was enviro-controlled, protection from the very real threat of unknown attack, and a valuable personal victory. But it was too noticeable, too distinctive. She pulled it all off. She also made the hard decision to remove her helmet. She would find another mask before she did anything else.

She brought her rifle, her blaster, and several different blades in a belt and holsters. She’d also brought a reflective poncho, elbow and knee guards, gloves, boots, pants, and a t-shirt. It was guerrilla gear meant for desert travel, but she’d left the armor behind. It would weigh her down.

She slung a pack that contained several days worth of rations and supplies onto her back, then secreted more ration and water pouches elsewhere on her body. She covered it all with the poncho. She looked up at the sun, and decided to check the TIE wreckage first.

The TIE was in ruins, they’d destroyed it along with the village. It had exploded and burned. There were several sets of footprints leading up to it, and sections of the ship were obviously missing and pulled apart. The fireproof footlocker was laying not far away, its contents strewn around the sand.

She found a tan flight hood among the discards, and a much older, cracked pair of goggles. She wore those, and covered her exposed skin with the ashes from the fire. It was not the paste from Parnassos, but it would likely protect against the sun.

She studied the tracks around the TIE wreckage again. The scavengers had been here, yes, and the winds had blown, obscuring some of the signs of fighting already.

She made out some marks in the sand from a possible droid. She followed the mess of prints to the edge, where the droid went in a different direction, away from the activity of the site and into the open desert.

She looked out across the sand, and followed it without hesitation.

* * *

The tracks intersected something quadrupedal, then stopped. She followed the quadruped as the sun began to set. She did not think the quadruped moved fast. It was large, heavy, probably carrying at least one rider, the one who had snatched the droid.

She found it as she crested a ridge. Its small alien rider was arguing with a human girl next to the oldest AT-AT Phasma had ever seen, nearly half a kilometer ahead. The BB unit was with them.

The girl argued. Their voices did not carry. She waved a spear. Or was it simply a stick? Both could be efficient, in the right hands.

The rider was small, but metal glinted, metal and equipment. The quadruped was heavily armored. Phasma watched. Waited. The argument continued. The girl was agitated. The rider was not. Phasma could tell from the rider's posture that it was at ease, and obviously didn’t see the girl as a threat. The rider would kill the girl. Move on. Phasma would kill the rider.

The girl simply sliced through the netting that held the droid and walked away with it. The quadruped and rider lumbered away after only a few agitated gestures, not bothering to engage her to retrieve the droid.

Phasma shifted her position. What had she said to that rider? What power did she have over it?

The girl and the droid went into the AT-AT. The girl’s posture was unbowed. She was not afraid.

Phasma watched for several minutes as the quadruped grew more distant. The sun glinted off the armor of whatever animal the alien was riding. She took a long sip from a water ration in her bag. Considered.

* * *

The quadruped’s faceplate had been too large for her, the alien’s too small. The alien possessed tools for cutting and harvesting metal scraps. She cut the quadruped’s mask down to suit herself. The goggles were tinted against the sun, and she mounted these over the eyeholes of the mask.

She butchered both, left their meat to dry in several different places. It would not all be stolen.

She took their water, their credits, some of the tools. The net was useful. She hid the rest.

She went back to the AT-AT. Kept back on the ridge. Waited.

Closer, this time. Within earshot of the girl.

* * *

No other beings approached the AT-AT, and the girl came out by herself later, the droid following. They both mounted a speeder and left, in the direction of the closest settlement.

Either the girl lived alone, or she cared for someone who could not stir from the downed transport.

Phasma entered it, but there was no one else. The girl had nothing. A wall full of hash marks, a doll, a bed.

There was nothing for Phasma to take. Nothing for the girl to fight so hard for, except her own life.

She left, loping off in the direction of the settlement. Perhaps a unit of Troopers had already seized the droid.

* * *

They had not. Phasma kept her distance. The girl was in a communal cleaning area. She had a small pile of mechanical parts beside her. Eventually, another creature ousted her from her spot. The girl glared, but had already finished her work. She gathered her parts and stood in a line.

Phasma took the place in line behind her.

“Three circuits for inertial dampeners, two anchoring spikes. One half portion,” the fat alien in the booth announced in a flat, uninterested voice.

“Half? One anchoring spike was worth a half portion by itself last week!”

“Not this week. I can offer you one half portion.”

The girl was obviously furious. Phasma stared over her head at the fat alien in the trading booth. The girl looked down at the droid.

“Oh?” the fat alien perked up. “That droid is worth something.”

“The droid isn’t for sale,” the girl snapped out quickly.

“Really? Because I can give you…” The fat alien left the window. Reappeared with an armful of portions. Then another. Then another.

Phasma recognized the look on the girl’s face. She hadn’t seen that many rations in her life. She stared at them. Stared at the fat alien.

“I want three times that amount.”

The fat alien looked at her.

“I don’t have it.”

The girl looked down at the droid. Looked back up at the fat alien. “Then the droid isn’t for sale.”

The fat alien considered her. “Then I can give you one half portion.”

The girl glared at the alien. Looked at the droid. Snatched the half portion off the counter and walked away.

Phasma stared after her.

“Either step up or step out of line. Don't waste my time.”

She turned and looked at the fat alien through the eyeholes of her new mask. She stepped up to the counter and offered the tools that had belonged to the rider.

The fat alien offered her five portions.

Phasma cocked her head. She did not know if it was a good bargain or not. She decided it didn’t matter.

* * *

  
She stole a speeder from the settlement, from behind the fat alien’s booth. Nobody stopped her.

She followed the girl and the droid out across the desert. At a distance. Phasma had no doubt that the girl was a fair hunter. A scavenger.

She watched the scavenger disappear into the wreck of a ship. Phasma had heard, vaguely, that some battle had taken place over Jakku. She cared not for the politics of it.

She sat in the sun of the desert, under a sun shield cloth cover, and waited for the scavenger to emerge. It took hours, and it was very hot, but Phasma knew how to be patient. It had been so long since she had done this. She sipped at her water ration. She ate one of the portions that the fat alien had given her. It was life, nothing more.

She considered. She should enter the wreck. Take the droid, kill the scavenger. Go back to the First Order. It would be a simple matter. She could do it now, go into the darkness of the wreck. The scavenger would never see it coming.

She imagined negotiating with the scavenger for the droid. What would she trade the droid for?

She imagined taking the droid from the scavenger. Taking it and walking away. She imagined what the scavenger would do. Phasma imagined her response.

Would the scavenger use her stick? Would Phasma catch it, pin her to the cool, dark inside wall of the old wreck? Would Phasma tell her she had hunted her for twenty-four hours? Or would she play with her first? Feign weakness, to see what the little scavenger could do. What she would do to survive.

Phasma imagined letting the scavenger get a hit in. The violence at Kylo Ren’s hands had been the first she’d suffered in years. And it had been merely Kylo Ren's magic. Kylo Ren was a great warrior, but he didn’t know what it was like to survive.

She imagined letting the scavenger hit her across the face with her stick. She imagined the taste of blood in her mouth. She licked her cracked lips.

She did not enter. She told herself there could be other scavengers in the wreck. They would stop her. Their footprints were all around the sands leading up to it. The risk was too high. She could kill the scavenger inside her empty AT-AT later.

She sat and waited for hours under the sun shield cloth. No other scavengers approached or left. No sound carried across the desert.

Kylo Ren would not wait for the map. Kylo Ren did not like to wait. He would come to Jakku, and he would hunt her. He would not stalk her as she was doing to the scavenger. He would use his magic and kill her.

When the scavenger emerged, she was wearing a hood, her face masked by goggles with a light mounted on the side. She was carrying an armful of parts. Large ones. She hefted them down the dune that had formed at the foot of the wreck.

Phasma watched as she slowly secured them to the speeder. They were too large. The speeder wavered under the weight. The droid nearly drove it down to the desert floor.

The scavenger mounted it. She left her mask on.

Phasma smiled.

* * *

The scavenger did not return to her AT-AT. Under the cover of darkness, she took a different path. Phasma followed her at a far distance by scent, a skill she had nearly forgotten. Scent carried far in the desert, farther than the sound of motors or the glint of moonlight against metal. Both the scavenger and her speeder had a distinctive smell in the desert.

The scavenger led her to a place where a camouflage cloth hid another, smaller wreck, a small planet-hopper, mostly buried under the sands. The scavenger used the cloth to hide her speeder, then entered the wreck. Phasma crept closer, to within meters of the speeder. She saw the dim light from within the planet hopper, heard the sounds of the scavenger working inside. The beeping of the droid.

Phasma knew there were no others in the wreck. Still, she waited.

When the chill of the desert had gotten into Phasma’s bones, the scavenger emerged, wearing an insulated cloth. She carefully covered the entrance to the planet-hopper again, mounted her speeder and left. She passed within ten meters of Phasma’s position. Phasma inhaled deeply, the smell of sweat and hunger. Not fear. Not desperation. The scavenger had still been wearing her mask.

Phasma entered the planet-hopper after the scavenger was gone. She put it through the startup procedure. Saw that the scavenger had nearly repaired it.

She carefully powered it down. Hid it again. Mounted her speeder.

* * *

She found that the fat alien lived in the booth he vended from, which surprised her. Those such as the fat alien usually had much nicer quarters than the ones they exploited. Perhaps the fat alien had been more fair than she’d thought.

He also truly didn't have the number of rations that the scavenger had asked for for the droid. So he hadn’t declined just to break the scavenger down.

Phasma had hung his body from the ceiling, suspended from hooks he’d used to display machine parts he’d obviously traded in. For that small show of honesty, she took him down and laid him on the floor.

She took all his credits, all his rations. He had the smallest vaperator she’d seen. She took that, along with portable distilling tech that was better than hers. She carefully looked through his comms.

There was one from the First Order, describing the droid. There were Stormtrooper patrols. It didn’t specify which units. None would recognize her, but it helped to know how experienced the Troopers were behind the armor. How thorough they would be. Would they find the scavenger? Would they bother talking to the others? Would they think to pay them for information?

The patrols had been called back earlier that evening. She thinned her lips.

She left.

* * *

She opened the door to the AT-AT. The scavenger was in a pile of blankets in the corner. She jumped up, grabbing her staff.

“Who are you?”

When Phasma said nothing, the scavenger rushed across the floor, brandishing her staff in front of her.

“This is mine. You need to leave. I’ve laid claim to it.”

Phasma shook her head. She still had her mask on. The scavenger did not. Her face was fierce. Phasma was at least half a meter taller than the scavenger, and likely weighed twice as much. The scavenger was thin, lithe, underfed. She was also unafraid, and defending her territory.

The scavenger struck with the staff without questioning further. Low, sweeping. Phasma stepped back through the doorway, but quickly swung herself back in before the scavenger could lock her out. She threw herself toward the scavenger, who dodged out of the way, holding the staff in two hands for protection.

Phasma had left her weapons behind. She reached out, swiping at the scavenger’s head, slower than she could have, her fingers brushing through the scavenger’s hair. It was down for sleeping, and Phasma’s fingers raked through it, tangled and caught until the scavenger jerked her head away, leaving several strands of hair wrapped around Phasma’s fingers.

The scavenger grunted, dodging and swinging the staff at Phasma’s head. Phasma took the blow, most of the force absorbed by the mask she still wore. The edge of the staff caught her ear. Phasma had removed her hood, and she shook her head, feeling the cut, the wetness of the blood as it trickled down her neck.

The scavenger narrowed her eyes. Phasma thought she might have sensed that the hit was intentional. After a moment, the scavenger pressed, swinging her staff in a flurry.

Phasma stepped back, lazily dodging the strikes. She walked backwards through the quarters, the Trooper area of the AT-AT with all the equipment and seating removed.

Eventually, she let herself trip. The scavenger was on her in a second, the staff against her throat, tight against her windpipe, bearing her weight down into it. Phasma put her hands up to keep it from crushing her windpipe.

The scavenger snarled wordlessly in her face.

“More,” Phasma choked out.

The scavenger twisted off, quick as a flash. It was dark, and the scavenger took advantage of the slightly smaller eyehole on one side of Phasma’s mask to dodge in that direction. Phasma did not see where she went, sitting up and quickly tracking her movement through the dark AT-AT interior.

The strike landed on the back of Phasma’s head. Phasma grunted as the staff cracked against her skull, her teeth gritted together.

She twisted around, grabbing the scavenger’s staff and wrenching as hard as she could. She got the scavenger on the ground. The scavenger let go of the staff, was up and away in a flash.

Phasma blinked, standing.

Fast, faster than she should have been, the scavenger was back, stabbing Phasma in her right bicep with a blade that was hardly bigger than her index finger. In and out, almost before Phasma could feel it.

“Leave,” the scavenger spat. “There’s nothing for you here.”

“More,” Phasma said. “You are disappointing me.”

The scavenger grabbed another staff, leaning against the wall by the door. Phasma cocked her head. She hadn’t considered it a backup weapon when she’d spotted it earlier, only a scrap piece of wood.

The scavenger gripped the end and swung it toward Phasma again. It struck her in the head. Phasma let it. The makeshift strap of her new mask snapped, the heavy iron of it falling to the floor.

Phasma dropped the act then, darting to the floor and grabbing the staff she had knocked out of the scavenger’s hands earlier. She swung it with all her speed and strength at the scavenger’s midsection.

The scavenger was fast enough to drop to the floor and roll out of the way. Phasma checked her swing, then hurled the staff at the scavenger like a spear. The scavenger caught it.

“Good,” Phasma said, nodding at her.

She sprung at the scavenger. The scavenger held both staffs between them, rolling to brace her back against the floor and letting Phasma fall on top of them. Impressively, she threw Phasma off and rolled away. Phasma grunted as she hit her side, then sprang into a crouch.

The scavenger brought both staffs down, and Phasma dodged, let the scavenger trip her. She rolled on top of Phasma again, one staff in her hand, the other tossed aside. This time, she used the staff to pin Phasma’s wrists above her head. Phasma let her. They were both breathing hard, and Phasma could see the cold sweat on the scavenger’s skin in the moonlight from the door. The chill blew in, letting all the heat of the day escape into the cold desert night.

“What are you doing here?” This time, the scavenger’s voice was more curious, less passionate. This time, Phasma answered.

“I hunted you. I’ve been watching you for almost two days.”

“Why?”

“The droid.”

When the scavenger didn’t answer, Phasma let her lips pull back from her teeth in an imitation of a smile.

“I have more portions than the fat alien now.”

The scavenger was straddling Phasma’s stomach with her thin thighs. She did not let the pressure off Phasma’s wrists. There was pain. Phasma flexed her hands.

“The droid isn’t for sale.”

“Good,” Phasma grunted. “I’m not buying it.”

The scavenger narrowed her eyes. “Then leave.”

Phasma considered her again. “No.”

The scavenger leaned her weight off Phasma’s wrists. Phasma brought them down to her sides. The scavenger kept the staff in one hand.

“What do you want, then? I don’t have anything.”

“I know. I told you, I’ve been following you for two days. I’ve already been through your quarters.”

The scavenger snorted. “Then you know there’s nothing I can give you.”

“No. There is.”

The scavenger leaned back, resting her full weight on Phasma’s stomach now.

“What?” She was curious. Wary. The moonlight reflected coldly in her eyes. She expected nothing.

“You know how to survive.”

The scavenger frowned. “And you don’t? You’re the one that followed me through the desert. If you did that without me noticing, you’re better at it than I am.”

“No. I want to survive. You do too.”

“Yes,” the scavenger said slowly. “Most people do.”

“They don’t. They don’t know how. They’re weak. They won’t do anything.”

The scavenger’s expression closed, and she said nothing.

“I’m supposed to go back with the droid. I will not.”

“Then what are you doing here? I’m not looking for a roommate.”

Phasma sat up, quickly tucking her fingers up into the gritty, matted tangle of the scavenger’s loose hair. Impulsively, to see what the scavenger would do, she leaned in quickly, closing her eyes and making sure that the kiss was deep, if nothing else. Their lips were both dry, and Phasma still had the sand of the desert clinging to her skin. She slipped her tongue between the scavenger’s lips, tasting the warmth of her mouth.

The scavenger let her steal her kiss for a long moment, her hands staying at her sides, before biting down hard on Phasma’s tongue.

Phasma tasted blood. She leaned back and licked her lips. Something inside her stirred for the first time since she’d left the Scyre. Her hand stayed in the scavenger’s hair, the scavenger allowing it, until Phasma dropped them back to her sides.

“I can take care of myself,” Phasma said, the only real explanation she would ever offer the scavenger.

The scavenger shook her head, pressing one of her hands into Phasma’s chest. She leaned in, and Phasma went back down to the floor, leaning back and supporting herself on her palms.

“What made you think to do this? You just admitted to stalking me all day, and broke into my rooms in the middle of the night and attacked me.”

“No. I did not strike you. I wanted you to attack me.”

The scavenger narrowed her eyes. “You were testing me.”

Phasma smiled, savage and more genuine this time. “You passed.”

“What would have happened if I hadn’t?”

“I would have taken the droid.”

They were both silent, staring at each other.

“Why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t.”

“You could stab me in the back while I sleep.”

“I could. I could do it while you were awake. I could do it whenever I wanted. That has nothing to do with this.”

“But it’s not… how did you put it? A _survival strategy_, is it?”

Phasma rolled her head to the side, looking out the door. “How else would I have approached you? You speak to no one. You let no one close.” She turned her head back, looking up into the dark shadows of the scavenger’s eyes. “You wouldn’t have spoken to me.”

When a long moment stretched out between them, Phasma gave her something else.

“I’m surrounded by people every day that I train in combat. But none of them understand what it means to truly survive.”

“And how would this help me survive?”

Phasma moved her head against the floor. “Maybe it won’t. But it has been years since I’ve allowed someone to touch me.” Her hand came back to stroke the scavenger’s cheek. Phasma remembered this, from the Scyre. It was how this was done. “You don’t seem like the type.”

The scavenger grabbed her wrist, but did not pull Phasma’s hand from her face. Her brow creased, but her expression softened.

“I’m not. I’ve never.”

The scavenger took Phasma’s palm from her face, holding it in her own hard, calloused hands. The skin on her face was lighter than the rough, tanned skin on her shoulders and arms, which she’d been as likely to cover with a cloak as not. There was a scattering of light freckles across her nose and cheeks.

The scavenger continued. “It’s easier to be alone here. There isn’t enough for two. And you’re another mouth, from off-world. You don’t know how to live here.”

Phasma cocked her head to consider her, then gestured to the door, where she’d left her pack outside. “I know how to live here. I have rations. I have other supplies, too. A vaperator. Meat.”

At the mention of meat, the scavenger’s head snapped to the doorway, and Phasma noted the hungry look in her eye. She remembered that the scavenger had done a full day’s work on a half ration.

Still, the scavenger turned and looked at her, wary. Careful. Good. So good.

“Fine. You have supplies, for now. But what about after that?” She said it in a pained voice, as if it hurt her to think of the future.

“We leave.” Phasma sat up, careful not to dislodge the scavenger, careful to leave her hand in hers. “You have the droid. There is someone coming here who will find it. You won’t be able to stop him. Neither will I.”

The scavenger’s brows went up. “Leave? To where?”

“Offworld.”

The scavenger’s expression darkened, and her voice flattened again, the wariness coming back. “How? In what ship?”

“Yours.” The scavenger recoiled, angry, and Phasma let her, continuing her explanation, tightening her grip on the scavenger's hand. “Your ship can’t be tracked. The one I came in is theirs. We take the fuel and whatever parts you need from that. We leave. Now.” Phasma looked to the door again, thought about the Troopers getting recalled. “He will be here soon. And he will find you as easily as I did.”

The scavenger’s expression hardened again. “Let him.”

Phasma shook her head. “No. Not him. You won’t survive him. Nor will I.” She looked to the door again, and stood abruptly, yanking the scavenger up after her. “That one doesn’t need to be close to kill you.”

The scavenger’s expression was confused, but when Phasma tried to pull her out of the AT-AT, she held her ground stubbornly, her expression changing again.

“I need to stay here. Someone’s coming back for me.”

Phasma set her mouth, her eyes going to the wall behind the scavenger, taking in the tally marks. When she looked back, she let the scavenger see her scowl. The scavenger was the only one alive who’d seen her face, and any of the expressions she wore on it.

“You said that it was easier to live by yourself here.”

The scavenger’s face got tighter, and she stood. “I’m using the ship to leave with them.”

“You waited this long for them.” Phasma gestured to the wall, then bent down, retrieving her mask from the floor. The strap had snapped near the mask itself, and she readjusted it, glancing at the scavenger as she did. “They abandoned you to the desert long ago. You were a child. They would not have expected you to survive. They are not coming back.”

Phasma pulled on her mask and left, disappointed. She heard the scavenger run to the AT-AT hatch, her bare feet pounding against the metal deck plating. The cold wind of the desert blasted Phasma’s body, and she wrapped the poncho around herself to spare herself the scouring sands. She’d grown weak against it in the years inside her armor.

She wondered if the scavenger would run after her, would shout and capitulate. Phasma wondered what she would do in response. She wasn’t in the habit of giving people second chances. People who didn’t seize a chance when it came were fools. She should take care of this one now, rather than wasting any more time on her. The scavenger was a liability, she could see that now. Perhaps it wasn’t yet time to change her situation.

But she had grown tired of the First Order. What she did, she did for them, not for herself. She had learned everything they had to teach. And she was tired of suffering the fools there. She wanted the security and power of the First Order, but wanted to be in control of her people, like the Scyre. She wanted to be able to give her own orders, and to trust that they would be followed to her exacting standards. She wanted to be able to eliminate the weak again, and she wanted to go back to one competent person doing a task, rather than forty people overwhelming it to be successful. She liked the scavenger. She wanted the scavenger with her. She was a survivor, like Phasma.

She wanted to wear fools on her skin as sunblock again. She wanted someone with her.

* * *

  
The next afternoon, Phasma had concealed herself near the planet-hopper, and had made a decision.

When the sun was down, if the scavenger hadn’t appeared at the planet-hopper, she was going to go to the AT-AT and take the droid, then report back to the First Order. She could only leave the Order if she had a second, someone she could rely on. They would hunt her. The General would not allow her to leave the Order with what she knew of Brendol Hux, and he was resourceful. He would track her, and Kylo Ren would find her.

If she left, she needed someone to watch her back, someone who could survive. Otherwise, she would bide her time in the Order and wait for another opportunity.

She had decided to take the droid and leave the scavenger, should it come to that. It was nearly unforgiveable weakness, and she had killed others for knowing her less than the scavenger did now. But the scavenger would not know it as such, did not know Phasma's name. Would stay here, isolated, just as Phasma would herself.

Kylo Ren was likely planetside now, and she knew she would not escape him unless she found the droid first. She was careful to erase the tracking sign from Tuanual, but it wouldn’t slow him down significantly. Sunset was as long as she could give the scavenger. After, she would take the droid.

Just as the sun began to dip below the horizon, she spotted the scavenger approaching on her little speeder, carting the droid with her. Phasma watched as she stopped and swung one leg off the speeder, leaning against the side and looking around. She was wearing her mask.

Phasma smiled.

“Hello? It’s me. It’s Rey.”

_Rey_. Phasma waited.

“I know you’re here. I went to Niima. I saw…” Rey paused. She had been looking around the surrounding area, but finally, her gaze rested on the planet-hopper, and stayed there. “I saw him, the one you warned me about. I heard what he did to Unkar Plutt. I heard what he was doing here. And. You were right.” She walked forward, to where the desert camouflage covered the ship, and pulled it back, tilting her head and staring into the hatch. “I need to leave. And they aren’t coming back.”

She opened the hatch of the ship and leaned inside. After a moment, she pushed back out, sitting on her knees in the sand. The droid rolled up, coming to a stop next to her.

“And you are the only one who’s ever told me that. Or asked. Or said I was worth having around. So. I’ll leave with you. For now.”

Phasma’s grin widened, and she felt her dry lips cracking painfully. Careful. So careful. She stood, calling down to Rey. One more test.

“Why did you come here to find me?”

Phasma had raised her voice, to be heard over the distance and wind. Rey’s masked face tipped up to hers. Phasma was a distance away, in a rock outcropping that she knew wouldn’t be an obvious place to conceal herself.

“I thought about what you said, all day. Then I went into Niima. But after that. I just knew.” She shook her head. "I don't trust you. I may leave when we go somewhere else."

Instinct. Good. She was so good. Phasma gathered her pack, her cover, her poncho. She had a larger bag slung over her back that contained her armor and her largest plasma rifle. She would not leave that behind. It was earned, and it was worth having, regardless of the rumors she would leave in her wake for the general to find.

“Phasma,” she said simply, when she came face to face with Rey. “We need to leave tonight. They are looking for me.” Phasma described where she’d left her transport to Rey, where and how she’d concealed it. “Take my speeder, and remove anything you need from it. I’ll take yours, and recover the other supplies I’ve gathered. Keep the droid in this ship. We will not be found tonight if we are apart.”

Rey nodded, then walked with Phasma to the larger, faster speeder Phasma had acquired. Phasma was preparing to mount Rey’s smaller, slower speeder when Rey stopped her.

“This is Unkar’s.” She turned, looking from the speeder back to Phasma. “How did you get this?”

Phasma stared at her for a second. Thought about telling her not to ask, wanting to get that out of the way.

Then, she remembered Kylo Ren, that he would find her within a matter of hours.

“I bought it. In Niima. Yesterday, when I arrived in the settlement.”

Rey stared at her for a few long moments. Phasma stared back. Understanding passed between them. Rey narrowed her eyes briefly, then slung her leg over the speeder and took off across the desert, not asking any further questions.

Phasma watched her for several long moments, much longer than she should have, then rode off on the smaller speeder to collect her rations.

The scavenger was perfect. She would survive.

**Author's Note:**

> Phasma commits a couple casual executions off-screen that have a lot in common with what we were shown of death and survival on Parnassos - mainly that nothing is wasted. It's briefly mentioned that she kills an alien and the creature it was riding and saves them to eat later.
> 
> Phasma isn't a direct threat to Rey, and never hurts her or considers any specific violence. But she is still an extremely dangerous person. She does tell one deliberate lie and lets a misunderstanding stand. They have a discussion about trust where Phasma admits that Rey can't trust her, and Rey accepts this, and also acknowledges the danger of leaving with Phasma. Phasma instigates a fight with Rey, but takes a beating to gauge Rey's potential as a fighter, and Rey dodges her counterattacks.
> 
> Re-reading the fic today, the ending came off a little more dangerous than I had intended. It wasn't my intention to make it seem like Phasma is trapping Rey. Phasma is unreliable, but considers Rey her equal, and Rey can take care of herself.


End file.
